


Marital Disharmony.

by moth2fic



Series: The arrangement [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, The marriage starts with misunderstandings.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:52:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes time to adjust to being married, especially when the marriage was an arranged one. And the marital bed is not always a source of harmony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marital Disharmony.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/gifts).



> From a prompt given by MistressKat in comments to Ceremony. No beta so if you notice typos, let me know.

It wasn't easy. The double bed, which was only really a large single, was part of the problem. Rodney was terrified. He had never imagined actually having to sleep with his new husband. At most, his thoughts had drifted to shared meals and perhaps watching a film over a drink or two. Real coffee, or beer. He couldn't conceive of John wanting this, either. They had been blind-sided with an arranged marriage and now shared quarters and a single/double bed. 

He tried to solve the problem by jumping in and facing the wall, pulling the covers around him to create a cocoon, a cloth wall that would show he was not trying to get close to John and didn't expect any closeness in return. They could get used to this, get through it together. 

He didn't expect the icy feet that tucked themselves hopefully under his thighs. 

"Brrr," he said.

"No, that's my line," said John. "You're hogging the covers, you know."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Rodney unwound himself, emerging from his cocoon less butterfly-like than ever. Only to find himself pressed quite close, too close, to a very naked John Sheppard. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said again, and scooted away, only to find the wall hampering his scoot. Then he resolutely closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, on the assumption that John might believe he had fallen asleep. He thought he heard a small sigh but decided it was some kind of auditory hallucination brought on by all the ceremony and fuss. 

When he woke up, John was already dressed, his mouth pressed into a thin grim line. 

"Bathroom's all yours," he said, with some kind of icy courtesy, and Rodney obediently headed for the tiny room which was only a shower stall and lavatory, scooping his clothes up on his way. He had to dress sitting on the lavatory seat but it was less embarrassing than doing so under John's unaccountably hostile gaze.

Later, after breakfast, he went to the bathroom again to clean his teeth and found his toothpaste had been carefully folded so that the tube was no longer squidgy and comfortable but had a neat roll pushing all the paste to the top end. The top was screwed on properly, too. "Neat-freak," he muttered through a mouthful of mintiness and then returned to the bedroom where he found John smoothing out the last of the 'hospital' corners he had created with the sheets on that damnable bed. He didn't say 'military neat-freak' aloud but he thought it very loudly and rather thought he had communicated with his partner who grinned and patted the bed with a satisfied expression. 

He managed not to look at John all day. People kept coming up and congratulating him on his altered state just as if it had been a marriage of choice and not convenience. He couldn't remember how he'd answered them. Brusquely, he supposed, but nobody had raised an eyebrow. They were, he thought rather sadly, used to brusque from him. 

The situation continued for a week. Rodney would retire early, some telepathic sense telling him when John would be likely to go to bed, and getting there first, hugging the wall, careful not to hog the covers, and tensing until he felt the mattress dip at which point he tried to do some deep 'look, I'm asleep already' breathing. One night John put an arm around his waist but he carried on breathing deeply and the arm slipped away. 

His toothpaste remained tidy. The bed was always meticulously made. His computer leads were carefully gathered together and tied into a looping roll that could be easily pushed out of the way behind the desk. His clothes were hung up whether he remembered or not. 

"Rodney, we have to talk," said John, one evening. "I know you aren't asleep. You only got into bed two minutes ago. We really need to talk about this, about our problem."

"Don't have a problem," said Rodney, trying, and failing, to sound sleepy. 

John sighed. "We have a huge problem, Rodney. We're sharing the smallest double bed on Atlantis and you keep trying to get away from me. And yet I'm your husband. We need to talk about it. Stop pretending and sit up and at least listen."

Rodney obeyed, partly out of curiosity. What on earth was there to talk about? Hadn't he tried really hard to stick to his own side of the bed, not to disturb John? When he sat up and opened his eyes he felt a dislocation in his thoughts. John was grinning at him, He was also sitting up, covers barely covering his knees and therefore leaving nothing to imagination, munching cheerfully on a power bar. 

It turned into a slanging match, of course. Starting with people who were military neat-freaks and messed with other people's toothpaste, seguing through people who hogged the covers and turned their backs on other people, winding up - or down - with people who ate in bed and risked crumbs on the sheets, and ending with an accusation of people snoring. 

"Do not," said Rodney.

"Do so," said John, glaring at him. 

"Do so not." Rodney was trying not to shout.

"Well, you sleep loudly." John sounded wounded rather than apologetic. 

They glared at each other for about a minute except that it felt like five, then Rodney turned to the wall again. He was getting quite fond of it. John's sigh was massive. He put a tentative hand on Rodney's hip and Rodney dislodged it with a slap and a sort-of bounce. John sighed again and turned over. Rodney found his warm naked back quite comforting pressed up against his own but he wasn't admitting this, even to himself. 

Another week passed. Then in a meeting, or rather, at the end of it, Elizabeth asked how they were adjusting to married life. It was an innocent question and could have been answered flippantly or seriously but with a hint of mind-your-own-business. However, both men chose to blush, stammer, and flee to the safety of their quarters. Their shared quarters. 

"Well, we aren't, are we?" Rodney wasn't quite sure what John was saying or asking but he grunted some kind of agreement which seemed the safest option, since John's face resembled a thundercloud. 

"What's your problem, Rodney?" Somehow the floodgates of the last fortnight opened and John was yelling at him. "I'm your husband. You won't sleep with me. Why? I need to know. You agreed to marry me and now you cuddle up to the wall as if it was your best friend in the world."

"But we sleep together, John. You know that. You must know because we share the bed. The one you make with oh-so-neat corners. I turn to the wall to give us both an illusion of privacy. We have to share the bed because we have to share the quarters but we don't have to..."

"...don't have to what, Rodney? Behave like a normal married couple? Have sex?"

There was a sudden and awful silence as each parsed what had just been said. The elephant in the bedroom had trumpeted. 

"But John, it was an arranged...I mean it wasn't...nobody ever suggested...you can't want...I thought I was..."

John's thunder vanished, replaced by sadness like soft rain clouds. 

"Rodney," he said, gently but with a hidden tautness in his voice. "What part of 'will you marry me' did you not understand? You said 'yes'."

"I...I..." Rodney was all bluster. He couldn't have misunderstood so badly. He was intelligent, brain the size of a planet, something this important couldn't have escaped him. "It was arranged," he continued. "For the good of the colony. Just a marriage of convenience. Just because you need to take care of our people. Not because you wanted..." He stopped, staring at John who had come unaccountably close. 

"You thought it was only an arrangement? I tried to show you. I thought you realised it was the best arrangement that could ever have happened to me. I thought you shared that. And then you rejected me." John was doing something with his hands, moving them as if he might grab Rodney's shoulders or hips but didn't quite dare. 

"I didn't mean to reject you. I didn't understand," he said at last, and moved to demolish the space between them. "Are you telling me this is for real? Because if so, maybe we could start again?" If Rodney could have seen his own face he might have known once and for all exactly what the expression 'puppy-dog eyes' meant. It obviously worked on John, who grabbed him. 

"You're stupid," he said, in between kisses. "Totally stupid, however clever you are." More kisses. And then a push that landed them both on the bed, John on top. 

"John, there are more meetings..."

"I'll postpone them. I can do that, you know." Rodney's clothing was being expertly disarranged so that skin met skin.

"There's dinner..."

"Later. There are power bars if you feel your hypoglycaemia coming on. This is more important than dinner." 

Rodney was naked, and so, he thought, without managing to explore too thoroughly, was John. 

Later, a long time later, and a couple of power bars later still, they sat on the extremely untidy bed just looking at each other. 

"I think we can safely say we've consummated the marriage," said John, his lips quirking.

"Hmm, yes, and it doesn't feel quite so arranged any more."

"The arrangement was only the excuse," said John. "I wanted you so much and Elizabeth was looking for a model pair, and I pushed for us and you said 'yes' and..."

"You wanted me all along?" Rodney was almost too surprised to speak. Even after what they'd just been doing.

"Wanted you for ever." That's what he thought he heard but John was nuzzling his collar bone and was not particularly audible.

"So we're really married now." He hardly realised he had said it aloud but John heard him and pushed him back down into the pillows. 

"Yes, really married. Neat-freakery, power bars in bed and everything," he said firmly. "And if you know what's good for you, Dr McKay-Sheppard, you won't be seeing any more of that wall. You'll sleep in my arms - or hold me in yours - like a regular married couple."

"I don't know how regular married couples behave," said Rodney.

"Then I'll have to teach you."

"But how do you know?"

"I don't, but I know what I feel and we can learn together."

They learnt a little more, languidly now, and deliciously, then showered together so that the bed would be at least moderately bearable. 

Rodney didn't turn to the wall but turned to John as they lay down. Then a thought struck him.

"Maybe I do snore, sometimes," he said, a little hesitantly.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't know," said John. "I always fell asleep first, waiting for you to turn to me with your oh-so-carefully regulated breathing, and gradually losing hope. I've got you now, so you can snore as much as you like." And with that he clutched his husband fiercely and held on right through the night until morning.


End file.
